


Fallen in a Forest

by Kale-y (PechoraFlow)



Series: Promptober 2020 [11]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Author Hates Romance, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Connor Deserves Happiness, F/M, Gavin Reed Being Less of an Asshole, Gen, Good Friend Tina Chen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Emotional/Psychological Abuse, POV Hank Anderson, Protective Parent Hank Anderson, because dammit if it doesn't have a happy ending then I didn't write it, just the psychological and physical aftermath, sry, you never actually see any abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27689728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PechoraFlow/pseuds/Kale-y
Summary: Hank was sad to see Connor move out of his home and into an apartment with his girlfriend, but they had four years together. And besides, Connor insists that he'll visit all the time.He never does, and when he starts acting strangely, Hank takes it upon himself to try and figure out what's going on. But maybe he's imagining things - after all, Connor says that he's fine, and Wendy seems nice enough...Something in his gut tells him to not let it go, and he didn't become the youngest Lieutenant in Detroit history by ignoring his gut instinct.---Prompt: Treasure
Relationships: Connor/Original Android Character(s) (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor
Series: Promptober 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947931
Comments: 13
Kudos: 82





	Fallen in a Forest

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. I know you guys have been waiting for this. I tried to do something a little different from the usual abuse fic tropes, and this is pretty different from what I usually write - hopefully it turned out well. <3

To be honest, Hank wasn’t sure he would ever really be ready for Connor to move out.

Four years had passed since the deviant revolution, and ever since then, Connor had lived with Hank, taking up the name of “Anderson" and unofficially acting as a member of Hank's family. It was never something they sat down and talked through - it just...happened.

It had been difficult, but Hank had quit drinking. The picture of Cole was now on display all the time in the living room, and he had even lost some weight (not as much as he would have liked, but it was progress, nonetheless).

Connor had grown, too. He had developed distinct likes and dislikes, a personal style, and a sense of humor that wasn’t dictated by some “social module” or whatever the fuck.

As much as he hated to admit it, Hank was gonna miss that ever-present sass.

But it wasn’t as if he was never gonna see him again. Connor still had his job at the DPD, and Hank wasn’t going anywhere. What’s more, Connor had made it clear this was simply a trial run - to "see if they were compatible.”

Connor didn’t have much to pack - even after four years, he wasn’t one to buy something just because he liked it. Everything had a purpose in his room. Mostly, they were packing up his clothes, leaving a few items in his room in case he ever wanted to come back to Hank’s.

Despite the negligible amount of things to pack, Connor’s girlfriend came over to help.

Wendy was a police model - PM700 or something. She used to work at a different precinct in Detroit and had quit her job at the start of the revolution in order to pursue art, instead. She was tall, standing just an inch shorter than Connor, with broad shoulders and forearms that glitched from the damage she had received in her previous line of work. Ever since the two had met at a chance encounter at the aquarium, where she had been drawing the fish on display, they had really hit it off. But, as she helped Connor pack his things, Hank couldn’t help but grieve what felt like the end of an era, when it had just been the two of them.

He tried to mask his sadness at the prospect of an empty house. “Figured you’d get bored of me sooner or later,” Hank joked.

Connor good-naturedly rolled his eyes. “That is simply incorrect. I enjoy your company very much, Lieutenant. You know that.”

“Sure, that’s what they all say,” Hank said. "Next thing I know, you’ll only be around for Christmas and Easter.”

“He's still working with you, Anderson,” Wendy chimed in. “You'll see him everyday. Except weekends, I guess, unless your schedule gets really weird again. When was that case… Back in March?”

Connor shrugged. “It might. I can’t predict crimes. Yet.”

"If you go all _‘Minority Report’_ on my ass, we’re going to have a long talk about ethics,” Hank warned.

“With the man who once told me to ignore small time criminals because ‘they weren't hurting anybody’?” Connor teased. “I’m sure it will be interesting, to say the least.”

“You’re fuckin’ hilarious, you know that?” Hank asked in an annoyed voice.

Four years ago, Connor would have taken the tone seriously and apologized. But today, he just laughed, putting the last box into Wendy’s car. “I learned from the best.”

Hank softened at that. “C’mere,” he said, pulling Connor into a hug. Connor returned the embrace tightly.

“It’s only a trial run,” Connor said, resting his chin on Hank’s shoulder. “And I still plan on spending time with you, Hank. I’m not interested in having to choose between you two, but I want to make this relationship work.”

“You care about her a lot, don’t ya?” Hank pulled back from the hug, smiling. “I'm happy for you. But remember, if you ever need relationship advice, I’m not your guy.”

Connor grinned. “Got it. You’ll be the last person I call.”

“Smart ass,” Hank grumbled, but the smile still on his face ruined the effect.

“Babe? You ready?” Wendy called, already half inside the car.

“Coming!” Connor called back. He turned back to Hank, unaware of the growing dread of the loneliness that was gnawing at Hank’s insides. “Take care of Sumo for me,” he said.

Hank nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Believe it or not, I’ve actually lived on my own before.”

Connor quickly gave Hank a kiss on the cheek, then hurried over to the waiting car. “I'll see you at work on Monday!” he said just as the car door closed.

Hank waved goodbye as the car rolled down the driveway and vanished down the street.

And then, for the first time in four years, Hank was living alone with Sumo.

* * *

The first time Hank found himself suspicious was just three or four weeks after Connor had moved out.

He had yet to come over to visit once, despite having promised to still want to spend most of his time with Hank. Not that Hank was expecting him to hold up to that promise - he had a serious relationship with Wendy, after all - but he still missed being able to just spend time with the kid outside of work.

It was a normal day at the precinct. In fact, slightly less interesting than usual. They had spent most of their time at their desks that day, filing reports and sorting through their current open cases, trying to spot any leads that they hadn’t already picked up on.

At around lunchtime, Hank leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh, stretching and cracking his back.

Connor looked over at him, an amused smile and a single raised eyebrow on his expression. “You alright, Lieutenant?”

“Yeah," Hank said, brushing him off. “Just been working a lot lately.”

“You should take better care of yourself, Hank,” Connor said, frowning. "Perhaps you should take a mental health day soon.”

“And miss seeing you for a day? I don’t get to see you enough as it is,” Hank said.

Connor’s gaze slid back to his terminal, embarrassed. Damn it - he wasn’t trying to _guilt trip_ him. He waited a few moments, then tried again.

“Y’know,” Hank started, “I was thinking maybe we could go spend a day out somewhere next weekend. Maybe grab lunch. How’s that sound?”

Connor's face lit up. “That sounds great. What day?”

"Saturday work for you?” Hank asked.

“I think so,” Connor said, turning back to his work. “I’ll have to ask Wendy.”

_...What._

“Why the fuck would you have to ask her?” Hank challenged, frowning. “You don’t need her permission.”

“Oh, I know,” Connor said quickly, walking back what he had said. He threw an apologetic smile Hank’s way. “It’s just our anniversary. I wanted to make sure she didn’t have anything planned.”

“Oh,” Hank said intelligently. Well, damn. That was stupid of him. “Nah, don’t worry about it. We can reschedule. Don’t want to ruin anything if she’s trying to surprise you or something.”

Connor gave him a tight smile. “Thanks, Hank.”

* * *

Nothing else out of the ordinary happened for another few weeks. Hank had gotten a call at night about some new case that they had to show up for, so he got up out of bed, threw on whatever he had been wearing that day, and set out.

In the car, he dialed Connor’s number and held the phone up to his face. Technically illegal? Yes. But did he give a fuck? Nope.

Connor picked up. _“Hello, Hank. I assume you are calling regarding the crime scene at 152 Broadway?”_

“Uh, if that’s where it is, then yeah,” Hank said. “You want me to pick you up at your apartment?”

_“No- No, I’m...actually not there right now. I decided to stay up late in the café on the corner - I believe it’s called Cinna-Minnie’s.”_

Hank frowned. “You can’t eat, though.”

_“Correct.”_

“Or drink.”

 _“I appreciate the atmosphere,”_ Connor snapped. There was a brief pause, then, _“My apologies. I should not have become short with you.”_

“That’s alright,” Hank said uncertainly. “You’re allowed to feel emotions. I thought we talked about this.”

 _“Yes, but I lose control too often,”_ Connor sighed. _“I apologize. Wendy is helping me control myself.”_

“Yeah, where is she?” Hank asked. He turned onto Connor’s street and caught sight of the small café Connor had mentioned. “Actually, hold up a second. I’m pulling up right outside.”

With that, Hank ended the call and tossed his phone in the backseat. Pulling the car over, he put it in park against the curb, then caught sight of Connor in the café. He still wore the white collared shirt and grey sweater vest that he had worn earlier, but he had put on an additional, DPD zip-up hoodie.

The girl behind the counter waved at Connor before he left, and he returned the gesture. Hank frowned. Connor being familiar with the waitstaff indicated he came here often. Was this what he usually did after work?

Connor opened the passenger door and climbed in, pulling the door shut behind him. “Good evening, Hank.”

“Hey yourself,” Hank returned, waiting for Connor to put on his seatbelt before pulling back out into traffic and continuing on their way. “You wanna tell me why you were in a café instead of back at your apartment?”

Bristling, Connor resolutely looked out the window. “It is only temporary. I am unsure of whether I want to make a full commitment just yet.”

Hank raised an eyebrow and joked, “She making you sleep on the sofa?”

Connor said nothing.

Deciding not to pry, Hank let the silence sit, driving through the streets of Detroit with his phone on for directions.

About maybe three blocks from the crime scene, Connor broke the silence. “We had a fight,” he admitted.

Hank nodded, waiting for Connor to go on. When his deviant partner didn’t say anything, he ventured to push a little. "Big fight?”

Connor thought about it for a minute. “Yes.”

“Well, I know I’m not exactly the paradigm to follow when it comes to keeping a marriage together,” Hank offered, “but in my experience, it’s usually best to just suck it up and apologize. Even if you’re the one in the right, she’s going to hold a grudge.”

“...She was hurtful,” Connor said.

"People say things they don’t mean when they’re arguing,” Hank said. “How many times have I insulted you? And you still tolerate me, for some reason. I'm willing to bet you said some hurtful things too, if she kicked you out.”

Connor didn’t say anything. Perhaps Hank had hit close to the mark - or, maybe he was completely reading the situation wrong.

“Connor, has she ever…” Hank struggled to find the words to say, even when Connor finally looked over at him. “Did she...threaten you?”

“With being kicked out of the house?” Connor asked.

Hank took a breath, deciding to just come out with the question. “Did she hit you?”

“No!” Connor said, just as quickly. “No, she didn’t. It was just...a lot of yelling. I ran out.”

Hank reached over and grabbed Connor’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’d tell me if it ever got any worse, right?”

“I’m fine,” Connor said. “We were just arguing. That is all.” With that, Connor opened the door and ducked out, making his way to where Collins stood beyond the yellow tape.

Hank didn’t like how Connor dodged the question, but he stopped his interrogation. They had a job to do. He would just remember to bring it up later.

* * *

“Later” turned out to be the next day. Connor was already seated at his desk by the time Hank showed up for work, one hand on his terminal and one skimming through paper reports on his desk. But something was...off.

Hank put his coffee down on his own desk, trying to place what exactly had thrown him…

Connor glanced up at him and smiled brightly. “Good morning, Hank."

“Morning,” Hank returned, suspicious.

Connor laughed. “What, is there something on my face?”

“Yeah, a smile,” Hank said. He sat down, but didn’t quite get to work just yet (well, not if he was defining “work” with Fowler’s definition). “Everything go okay when you got home, last night?”

“Yes. I am sorry if I made you worry,” Connor said, turning back to his work. “I went home and Wendy apologized before I had a chance to.”

Connor didn’t say anything else.

Hank leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. “So…everything's okay?”

Connor grinned. "Everything is great. I actually have a free afternoon, so if we can finish up last night’s report, I thought maybe we could spend some time together? I am okay with anything; I just miss talking with you.”

It was as if the sun itself came out on that overcast day in Detroit, just to brighten the atmosphere. Connor’s upbeat attitude was infectious, and Hank couldn’t help but return the smile. “I miss talking with you too, kid. I’ve been meaning to take Sumo over to Belle Isle. That work?”

If it was possible, Connor’s smile widened. “That sounds perfect. Oh, did you put the first responders’ report on the database already, or is it a hardcopy?”

Connor reached across his desk and Hank froze. The skin on Connor’s wrist was glitching, flickering between his normal skin color and the inorganic plastic chassis.

Before Hank could get a better look, Connor quickly pulled his hand back, adjusting his sleeves so that they fully covered the glitch. “I was trying to navigate the apartment in the dark and hit my hand on a table corner,” Connor explained somewhat bashfully. “My self-repair program will take care of it - you won’t even notice it in a few hours.”

Hank frowned. Since when did the android that could preconstruct highly elaborate fighting sequences run into coffee tables? Sure, he had been somewhat clumsy when he broke Hank’s kitchen window, but that was a one-time thing, wasn’t it…?

“Oh,” Hank said, keeping his suspicions to himself. He grabbed a folder from beside his terminal and passed it to Connor. “Here’s the first responders’ report.”

“Thanks,” Connor said, taking it and getting back to work.

Later, Connor and Hank took Sumo to Belle Isle, as planned. As the lieutenant watched his dog and partner enjoy their afternoon, he found himself almost able to believe that nothing had changed, and that nothing was wrong.

* * *

It was raining one night, a few weeks later.

Hank was taking Sumo out for a late night walk - because despite the heavy rain, despite the cold, Sumo _still_ wanted to be outside as much as possible - when he opened his front door and nearly had a heart attack.

Sitting on his front step, leaning heavily against his doorframe, was Connor.

“Connor, _what the fuck_ ,” Hank breathed.

Connor blinked up at him, absolutely soaking wet. “You’re awake.”

"The hell… Did you _walk here?!”_ Hank demanded, but the spark of anger died when Connor flinched. "Alright, come on. Inside.”

It was a struggle to hold Sumo back and to help Connor inside, but he managed it and shut the door behind them. He guided Connor over to the sofa, not caring that it would get wet. “Sumo, stay.”

Sumo sat at the edge of the couch, right next to Connor. The massive dog laid its slobbery jowls on Connor’s lap, and Connor started to pet his head with delicate fingers.

Hank kicked off his shoes and dropped Sumo’s things on a bench he kept by the door. Then, he made a beeline for the bathroom and turned the faucet on, running a warm bath. As the tub slowly filled, Hank ducked into Connor’s room, quickly grabbing a t-shirt that Connor had picked up at some animal volunteer center and a pair of sweatpants. He grabbed a towel from the closet in the hallway, then put all of the items on the toilet seat.

He moved back into the kitchen, grabbing a packet of Thirium and throwing it in the microwave. As it warmed up, he took down a mug and filled it halfway with saline solution, then added the warm Thirium in and stirred.

He sat next to Connor on the couch, passing him the warm mug. “I hope your levels aren’t too low,” Hank started, "but even if they were you wouldn’t tell me, so drink up.”

“Thank you, Hank," Connor said quietly, sipping from the mug.

Hank wrung his hands in front of him. “Look...son, you know that I’ll have you over anytime you want, but the first time you show up four months since you moved out and you’re freezing to death on my fucking doorstep… I think I’ve earned an explanation, don’t you think?”

Connor nodded. “We fought again.”

“And you didn’t go to that café why?” Hank pushed.

“They are closed," Connor said. "I didn’t mean to startle you - I was just going to wait here for a few hours and then go back. I thought you’d be asleep.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t,” Hank said. He bit the inside of his cheek, a question burning to get out. “Connor, do you feel safe?” 

Connor’s LED spun a vibrant yellow for a few moments, picking up speed until it spun too fast to see, then flashed red-

A furious knock just about scared the living daylights out of Hank. Connor’s gaze was locked on the door, as if he could see right through it.

Hank pushed himself off of the couch and opened the front door. Before he could realize who it was, Wendy pushed past him, hurrying over to where Connor sat on the couch. “Oh thank god,” she said, falling to her knees in front of him. “Connor, baby- oh my god, you scared me so bad, I wasn’t sure if you were hurt or lost or-”

“I’m okay,” Connor said in a small voice. “I’m sorry. I just…"

“I know, baby,” Wendy cut him off, running a hand back through Connor’s hair and cupping his cheek. Connor didn’t react to her touch. “You just scared me is all. Come on, let’s go home.”

“Actually,” Hank cut in, “Connor was just going to take a warm bath - don't want him getting too cold, you know.”

Connor glanced over at Hank and smiled a little. "Thank you, Hank.”

“But you can do that at home,” Wendy said, pouting a little and looking at Connor.

“I already ran it,” Hank said. “On my paycheck, baths are expensive. I’ve got a limited amount of hot water, Wendy - I wouldn’t like to waste it.”

“I’ll be quick," Connor promised, his gaze on Wendy. It was as if they were ignoring Hank completely, despite it being _his_ house.

Wendy didn’t look happy, but Hank plowed ahead anyway. He made his way to the bathroom and gestured for Connor to follow him. “C’mon. I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

He heard a whispered apology behind him and hurried footsteps as Connor made to follow him. Hank went into the bathroom, waited for Connor to enter, then shut the door behind them.

Hank turned to Connor, all business. “You didn’t answer my question,” Hank said.

Connor’s LED blipped red, then went back to yellow in an instant. “What did you ask me?”

Hank gave him a look. “You can’t remember?”

“…No."

“Your memories are recorded, Connor. I’m not stupid.”

Connor’s gaze slid away from Hank’s, but he didn’t say anything.

With a sigh, Hank turned off the faucet. “Look, if you need me to make up an excuse to get her out of here, you can stay here for the night. You know you can always drop by if you need a place.”

Connor’s posture eased, and his LED flickered back to blue. “I know. Thank you, Hank, but I’m fine. Really.”

When Hank left the bathroom and closed the door behind him, Wendy was still standing in the living room, her arms crossed impatiently.

It occurred to Hank that he had Wendy on her own. Connor probably would have intervened if he had tried to subtly interrogate her...

But Connor wasn’t in the room.

What kind of detective would he be if he didn’t do a little investigating?

“Can I get you anything?” Hank asked, moving into the kitchen and opening the fridge. “Thirium? Water?”

“Water would be great, thank you,” Wendy said. She followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the wall.

Hank grabbed a beer for himself and a bottle of water for Wendy. He tossed it to her and she caught it deftly.

“So, how’s the DPD?” Wendy asked.

“Same old same old," Hank said, shrugging it off. “Why do you ask?”

“Connor’s just been very stressed out, lately,” Wendy said, a troubled expression on her face. “He’s been getting these...panic attacks? Is that new?”

Hank frowned. “Uh...well, he hasn't had them in a while, but I'm sure if you just ask him-”

“I can't,” Wendy said, taking a sip of the water. “I tried and he spiraled into one of his worst... _episodes_ yet. Took him a few hours for his stress levels to drop below 70%.”

“Huh,” Hank said, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“I think I would know my own boyfriend,” Wendy said matter-of-factly.

“I think I would know my partner,” Hank countered. Though they had both said their piece nonchalantly, the tension in the room was rising. Hank took a breath, careful to not let his discomfort show.

“I guess you would know him pretty well,” Wendy said with a laugh. “Which is...well, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Has he...been acting weird, lately?”

Hank took a sip of beer. “...Weird how?”

“I don’t know,” Wendy said. “He’s just...distant, I guess. I don’t know. He doesn’t talk to me anymore. Has...has he told you about the nightmares?”

Hank hid his shock admirably well, but his mind was reeling. "Uh, no. He always says that ‘androids can’t get nightmares,’ but I never bought it. Why?”

“He’s just been having a lot of them lately,” Wendy said. "His power levels have been inefficiently recharged.”

“So he’s tired?”

“Yes.”

Hank ran over her words in his mind, trying to determine whether she was telling the truth or not. Nothing particularly jumped out at him - he had no idea. “Is that what the skin glitch thing is about?”

A troubled look came over Wendy’s face. “No, those are bruises. I thought he was getting those in work. He stays out so late…”

“He leaves early,” Hank said. What the hell? Was she lying, or was Connor up to something else?

No. Why would Connor lie? He had told Hank that he wasn’t comfortable with lying - something about an experience with a deviant on a rooftop. Instead, Connor omitted the truth, either not saying anything or finding clever ways to tell the truth, but not the _whole_ truth.

No, Connor wasn’t hiding anything. But Wendy?

An explanation for Connor’s behavior was forming itself in Hank’s mind, and if it was true, then Wendy had every reason to lie and plenty to hide.

"Where are they?” Hank probed.

Wendy looked at him innocently. “Where are what?”

“The _bruises-_ ” Hank snapped, but he fell silent when the bathroom door opened. Connor walked around the corner, looking much better than he had a few minutes prior. His posture was straighter, and his gait was more at ease.

Wendy put the bottled water aside and strode over to Connor, slipping her hand in his. “Ready to go?”

“Yes,” Connor said. He looked over to Hank. “I feel much better. Thank you.”

“Any time,” Hank returned, trying to keep himself obviously searching for bruises- _where were they?_ He’d just seen the one on Connor’s hand at the office, but Wendy made it sound like there were more…

“Yes, thank you, Hank,” Wendy echoed, pushing Connor to the door. “And sorry about wasting your hot water - it won’t happen again.”

The door shut behind them before Hank could say anything else.

* * *

The bruises that Wendy had alluded to wouldn’t leave Hank alone. He found himself glancing at Connor’s exposed skin every time his partner came into work. _Was he wearing that long sleeve because he liked the sweater’s texture, or was there another reason?_

Or perhaps Wendy had been misleading him. Maybe she was making fun of his worry, and he hadn’t caught onto the joke. After all, he had yet to see anything alarming since Connor showed up at his house.

Hank had almost completely retired his theory when he and Connor were assigned to a stakeout.

It was almost too perfect. He would have hours with Connor on his own. He could just come out and ask him, and he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing.

They took a position across from the house that they suspected their culprit was hiding in and settled in for what promised to be a long wait.

For maybe two hours, Connor stared at the house as Hank drank his coffee, going over what he could say that would get Connor to open up.

Connor beat him to the punch. “Are you going to ask or not?”

“Hmm?”

Connor looked at him, annoyed. “You haven’t spoken in one hour, fifty-three minutes, and twenty-eight seconds. That’s a personal record for you. You only go this long without comment when you are trying to make up your mind. Conclusion: you are looking for the most tactful way to start an uncomfortable conversation.”

"Alright, no need to get all snappy about it, good grief,” Hank said, adjusting his position in the driver’s seat to ease the crick in his back.

He fell into silence again, still trying to find the best way to start the conversation and coming up empty.

Connor eventually had mercy on him. “What were you thinking about?” he asked.

Hank scratched at his jaw absent-mindedly. “…Wendy."

Connor's eyes narrowed. “What about her?”

“Just some things she said.” Hank returned Connor’s suspicious look. "She mentioned that you had been coming back home with bruises. You wouldn’t happen to know what she was talking about, would you?”

Connor turned to stare straight out the window. “No.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Hank exploded. “I _know_ you’ve been hiding them, Connor. Now, you can tell me where you keep getting them, or else I can get a warrant-”

Connor got out of the car in a hurry, slamming the door behind him.

_Damn it, Anderson. Now look what you did._

Hank quickly got out of the car. “Connor, wait-”

“I’m not a child, Hank,” Connor snapped, whipping around with his fists clenched at his sides. “I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”

“I know that,” Hank said, a note of indignation in his voice. “But Wendy says you don’t come home until late at night, and I see you leave early... Kid, _what_ is going on?”

“I promise, there’s nothing wrong,” Connor said through gritted teeth. “I just like to take a walk after work. That's all. Now _leave me alone_.”

“Connor-”

Connor turned away and made to move back to the car, but Hank reached out and put a light hand on Connor’s shoulder.

“Son, I’m sorry if I overstepped,” Hank said, giving in. “I just… You know me. I’m just trying to look out for you, okay? You know that, right?”

Hank felt Connor’s shoulders relax beneath his palm. Connor looked back at Hank, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I know, Hank. If anything happens, I’ll tell you. But I can take care of myself.”

* * *

About a month later, Hank had just turned off the game, preparing to go to bed when his phone rang.

He didn’t move from the armchair and let it ring. If it was work, they’d call twice. If it was just a random call, they would leave him alone after not picking up the first time.

The ringtone ended.

The phone rang again.

Groaning, Hank pushed himself out of the armchair and went over to the kitchen counter, unplugged his phone, and answered it. “Anderson.”

 _“Hank, you should come down to the precinct.”_ Chris’s voice.

Hank frowned, confused. “Why? If there’s an error with a report, I can correct it tomorrow-”

 _"No, it’s…”_ Chris took a breath. _“Look, there’s no good way to say this over the phone. A domestic disturbance call came in maybe two hours ago.”_

“And you called the homicide detective why, exactly?” Hank asked.

_“It was Connor’s apartment.”_

Those four words stopped the Earth from turning on its axis. A cold muck of emotions spread through Hank, icy thorns gripping his chest, too warped and twisted to separate one emotion from the other. “What?”

 _“He’s just been repaired,”_ Chris said. _“They’re about to take his statement. Figured he would want you here, and that you'd wanna know about it.”_

Hank hurriedly put on his usual jacket and shoved on his nice leather shoes simply because they were slip-ons and therefore faster to put on. “What happened? Is he alright?”

_“I… I dunno, Hank. The main damage was fixed, but he’s… Just come down here, okay?”_

“Yeah,” Hank said, grabbing his keys and heading out the door. "On my way.”

* * *

As soon as Hank showed up at the DPD, Chris wordlessly gestured for him to follow. He was led into the observation room, where Fowler sat, watching through the one-way mirror. Tina stood nearby, her muscles tensed.

The interrogation room next door held but one occupant: Connor, blue Thirium trickling from a cut in his eyebrow and another on the opposite cheek. He wore a DPD sweatshirt that was maybe two sizes too big and definitely did not belong to him. His lip was busted as well, but he kept a paper towel pressed against it to absorb the blue blood.

Hank felt rage boil in his blood, thrumming through his veins like a war drum. “Why the fuck is he in interrogation?” Hank demanded. Chris shut the door behind him, giving the four officers some form of privacy.

“He’s not being interrogated,” Fowler assured, hands out to calm Hank down. “We thought he would want to give his statement in private.”

“Is that why you’re all in here to watch?” Hank snapped.

Fowler’s eyes narrowed. “Chris and Tina were the ones who responded to the domestic disturbance call, and I’m here because I’m trying to figure out how the hell one of my detectives managed to hide signs of abuse in a precinct _full_ of other detectives. I’m here out of compassion, Hank. No one is here because they're enjoying this.”

A quick glance around the room confirmed what Fowler was saying. Nobody looked anything less than murderous.

“Now, if you don’t have anything else to yell about,” Fowler went on, “we still have a job to do. Tina, go ahead.”

Tina nodded once, then left the observation room.

Fowler stood and offered his chair to Hank. “Sit down.”

Hank scoffed. “I don’t need-”

Chris put a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “Hank… Just speaking from what I saw in that apartment, you’re going to want to sit down.”

Half-heartedly grumbling, Hank sat down just as Tina opened the door to the interrogation room, attracting Connor’s attention. “Hello, Tina.”

“Hi, Connor,” Tina returned, sitting down at the table. She put a recorder on the tabletop.

Connor’s eyes flicked to it, and his posture hunched slightly. “I assume that you are going to need a statement?”

“If we’re gonna get her locked up, then yeah,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

She sounded genuine. Hank recalled a story she had told him a year or so ago about an abusive relationship she had been in back in college - the stress and commitment had forced her to drop out, and the police academy had been her backup choice. That empathy was likely why Fowler let her be the one to go question Connor.

She started the recording. “Connor, I’m just going to ask you a few questions. You don’t have to answer any of them, or elaborate, but what you give us will allow us to further our investigation. You have a right to leave whenever you want, or to have someone present.”

“Who’s in the observation room?” Connor asked, his voice quiet.

“Fowler, Chris, and we brought in Hank,” Tina told him. "You can ask them to leave, if that’s what you want.”

Connor hesitated, but slowly shook his head. “They’ll see the report, anyway. It’s alright.”

Tina nodded. “Let me know if your opinion ever changes. You’re not at fault here, Connor."

The deviant wouldn’t make eye contact.

Tina grimaced, but went on. “Please tell me what happened tonight that led up to our involvement.”

There was a moment of quiet.

Then, Connor took a breath and began. “I was returning from the precinct - my job - at approximately eight twenty-three in the evening. When I entered the apartment, I noticed that Wendy was alone in the kitchen. I found her looking at a picture of her ex-fiancée, a WR600 who had died a few years ago in the Jericho raid. Wendy never told me her name.

“I asked her why she had the picture out, but she never answered me. Instead, she told me that the WR600’s death was my fault, and demanded that I tell her why it was right that I had escaped from Jericho while so many innocents had not. She had mentioned this before, but I… I had no answer, so I said nothing. She was…” Connor’s LED spun red for a few moments. “...displeased that I had not answered her. She thought I was ignoring her, so she pushed me...a few times in order to provoke a response. I told her that I could not answer, and she pushed me down. She kept… She kept ordering me to answer her, but I didn’t know what I could say that would deescalate the situation.

“As this was not the first time she had threatened me physically, I knew that she would likely deal some sort of superficial damage, then apologize later and explain herself. And I was willing to be patient, I really was,” Connor said earnestly. Hank felt sick to his stomach. “But she started to kick me, then turned around for a kitchen knife. She was… I couldn’t recognize her. And I didn’t…” 

Connor’s voice broke, and he continued in a voice so low, it was almost a whisper. “I didn’t want to die. I just thought about Hank and how disappointed he would be if I sustained fatal damage, so I got up and tried to run. I shouldn’t have done that. That was so stupid of me. I shouldn’t have tried to run.”

Hank’s fists were clenched so tightly, his nails stung his palms and his fingers ached. Fowler hissed a curse and turned away from the window for a moment to collect himself.

Connor went on. “She grabbed my arm and I fought against her, but I didn’t want to hurt her. I just wanted… I just wanted to get away. So I pushed her back, and… I lost track of what happened exactly afterwards, but I hadn’t helped her calm down. My processing software became...very unstable. My memory of the event is unclear. The next event I am aware of is falling onto the coffee table and seeing the knife in my stomach."

Hank leaned forward, hiding his face in shaking hands. He couldn’t watch Connor say all of this - not with that guilty expression on his face, like he was admitting to a crime instead of simply reporting one. But Hank wouldn’t leave the room. He couldn’t. He had to know what had happened so that he could be there for Connor for however long he needed him. If Connor decided he needed him.

“She instantly apologized and helped me up, and I knew she was sorry,” Connor continued, talking quicker now. “And she had said she had only grabbed the knife in self-defense. She had this look on her face… She didn’t mean to do it. I know she didn’t. And she went to get the repair kit when the police arrived. But she jumped out of the window and climbed the fire escape. I don’t know where she went after that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tina said. “We’ve got people on it. Connor, is this a pattern of behavior?”

Hank looked up, watching closely as Connor looked down at his hands and fiddled with his sleeves. “Yes.”

Just like that, with one word, the floor dropped out from underneath Hank.

“How many times has she physically assaulted you?”

“...Eight notable instances. There were small things she did, too - like push me around or grab my arm to hold me in place, or she would...would dig her nails into my arm, but it rarely escalated further.”

How many times had Connor come in to work with glitching skin? How many times had he flinched away from a touch that he thought would be harmful? Connor could probably tell him the exact number. He could probably tell him every hurtful thing she had ever said, every time she had lied to his face...

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Hank choked.

Tina herself took a minute to regain her composure. Connor glanced up at her, then back down at his sleeves. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Tina said. “And thank you - I think we have all the information we need, unless there is something else you would like to add.”

Connor hesitated, but shook his head.

“Alright,” Tina acquiesced, letting it go. “Thank you for your cooperation. You may withdraw your statement, if you wish, but allowing us to use it may allow you to avoid a day in court as well as any further interaction with the suspect.”

“Can I see Hank?” Connor blurted.

Hank was out of his seat in a heartbeat, hurrying out of the observation room and into interrogation in seconds. As soon as he was through the doorway, Tina stood up from the table with the recorder and moved aside, allowing Hank to make eye contact with Connor from the door.

Connor’s eyes watered and he looked down at the tabletop.

As much as it pained him to do so, Hank walked forward slowly, watching Connor glance between him and the table. “Connor?”

The deviant’s eyes flicked up to Hank. “Hank,” he croaked. “Hank, I’m _so sorry-”_

“It’s alright,” Hank said, as gently as he could manage. He knelt next to Connor and looked up into his face, hating the way Connor’s shoulders curled inwards, the way that his synthetic tears lined his eyelids… “You're gonna be okay,” he said, reaching out to take Connor’s hand.

Connor held onto Hank’s hand tightly, his fingers locked around Hank’s. “Can we go home?”

"Yeah, son, we can go home,” Hank said. He stood slowly, stepping to the side to give Connor the room to stand up. Connor never let go of Hank’s hand, and as soon as he was upright, he hid his face in Hank’s shoulder. Hank put his free arm around Connor, holding him close. He asked in a low voice, “You alright? You need a minute?”

Connor shook his head and moved back - not far enough to break out of Hank’s grip, but far enough to be able to look Hank in the eye as he said, “I just want to go home.”

“Okay,” Hank said. He pressed a kiss to Connor’s hairline, keeping one arm around Connor’s shoulders and holding Connor’s hand with the other. “Okay, we can go.”

Hank guided Connor out of the interrogation room, murmuring quiet reassurances as they went. The deviant kept his eyes down on the floor, but Hank was alert, looking around and staying on guard. He saw the officers glance over in interest, not quite worried but not fascinated, either.

He heard someone mutter, “What’s wrong with him?”

Connor flinched and curled in on himself. Hank rubbed his arm. “It’s alright. We’re almost-”

Their journey was interrupted by the sound of yelling near the front of the precinct. The eyes that had been on Connor swiveled to the opposite end of the room - Hank’s included.

Gavin marched in, pushing a handcuffed suspect towards the cells.

_Wendy._

“You asshole!” she yelled at Gavin. “You have no right to just arrest me for _no reason-!_ ”

Gavin snapped, “You have the right to remain silent, so I suggest you shut the fuck up! I’m _this close_ to charging you with assault of an officer-”

Gavin and Wendy caught sight of Hank and Connor at the same time. Instead of digging her heels in, Wendy switched tactics and launched herself to the side, breaking out of Gavin’s grip. With a shout, Gavin chased after her, but Wendy was _built_ for police work. She leapt over desks, heading straightforward. “Connor! Help me!”

Connor tensed under Hank's arm, but made no move to run, as if he was expecting a hit. Rage boiled in Hank’s blood and he shoved Connor behind him, bodily shielding him from Wendy. Connor gripped the back of Hank’s jacket with tight fingers, forehead pressed against the back of Hank’s collar.

“Connor!” Wendy yelled. She was only a few paces away when one of the officers finally managed to grab her, slowing her down just long enough for Gavin to regain a hold of her. “No! Get off! Connor help-!”

Gavin looked back over his shoulder. “Tina!” Tina hurried across the bullpen to assist. Gavin looked back over at Hank, who still stood resolutely between Wendy and Connor. “Go home. I’ve got this one.”

There was something in Gavin’s face...something in his eyes that Hank hadn’t seen in a long time: cold determination. Before Gavin had become an ass, he had been resolutely focused and serious - it was what made him rise through the ranks so quickly. That personality was back, for now. Hank nodded to Gavin in appreciation and tucked Connor back under his arm, leading him away from Wendy and going straight for the parking lot.

“You know I’m not the one who should be here, Connor!” Wendy cried after them, struggling to stand up and chase after Connor again. “You hit _me_! You killed my people! I know you remember them. You know what you did. You’re a traitor-!” Her voice cracked, hoarse from screaming at the deviant that was currently shaking against Hank’s side, eyes still on the ground in front of him.

“Ignore her,” Hank said, trying to talk over Wendy, who had switched from coherent thought to cursing. “You know she's just desperate. We’re going home, and you can sleep in your own bed, with Sumo-”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Connor said quietly as they stepped out of the precinct.

"You can sleep in my room, then,” Hank said. “Or we can sleep in the living room. Whatever you want, okay kiddo? And we can talk or not say anything and just watch a movie. Whatever you want.”

* * *

The drive home was quiet. Connor sat in the passenger seat, as he always did, but he never let go of Hank’s hand. He stared at the dashboard, synthetic tears still dripping down his jawline. His frame still shook, even though they were miles away from the precinct. Away from Wendy.

Hank rubbed a thumb over Connor’s knuckles, but otherwise focused on the road. And if he sped to get home faster? Wasn’t like anybody could stop him.

As soon as they walked through the front door, Sumo bounded over, ecstatic to see his boy again. Connor sat on the floor by the couch and obliged Sumo, petting him as the giant dog plopped into Connor’s lap and thumped his tail on the hardwood floor.

Hank put a hand on Connor’s back. “Do you need anything? Thirium?”

Connor nodded. “Yes, please.”

Hank patted Connor’s back, making a mental note to grab Thirium on his way back into the living area. For now, he dipped into Connor’s room and grabbed a maroon knit sweater and grey sweatpants that he knew were the kid’s favorites. He took one of the pillows from Connor’s bed as well as the soft blanket draped across the footboard, and left the room.

He ducked into the kitchen to grab that packet of Thirium from the refrigerator, then moved back into the living room, where Connor was still in the same spot, petting Sumo. His LED spun yellow with flecks of red, but at least he wasn’t shaking as much anymore.

Hank dumped the items he had collected on the couch. “Connor?” The deviant looked up. “I got you some clothes, if you want to change. And your Thirium.” Hank tapped the blue pouch for emphasis. Connor nodded, and Hank took that as his cue to get back to work.

He left the living room once more, disappearing into his own bedroom to change into whatever comfortable clothing he could find. Grabbing the fleece blanket he had tossed on his armchair, he shut off the light and left the room.

He turned the corner just in time to see Connor pull the maroon sweater over his head. There was a large white bandage on the right side of his stomach, but Hank only caught a glimpse of it before Connor pulled the fabric down, hiding it from view.

The hatred that had been simmering in Hank’s blood spiked again, but he crushed it, since there was nothing he could do about it.

Well, almost nothing.

“You wanna watch a movie or just go to sleep?” Hank asked, putting the blanket on top of the pile he had already begun to form on the couch.

Connor looked at the collected items and frowned. “You did not bring out a pillow for yourself.”

“Not tired,” Hank said, which was close enough to the truth: _I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep, knowing what she did to you._

_Knowing that I did nothing._

Connor’s look of confusion did not ease. “Then how…?”

“C’mere,” Hank said, sitting down on one end of the couch. He haphazardly threw his blanket over his lower half, then put Connor’s pillow in his lap. Connor’s face relaxed, catching onto what Hank’s plan was. The deviant grabbed the blanket Hank had brought out for him and laid down on the couch, resting his head on the pillow. Connor grabbed Hank’s right hand once again, holding it tightly.

Hank looked down at Connor. “You want Sumo?”

Connor nodded.

Hank whistled. “Sumo, up!”

The giant St. Bernard didn’t need to be told twice. He leapt up onto the couch, laying down on Connor’s legs and resting his massive head on Connor’s chest.

“Good boy, Sumo,” Connor said quietly, to which Sumo thumped his tail once against the armrest of the couch.

“Do you wanna watch anything?” Hank asked, tugging Connor’s blanket so that it was further up around Connor’s shoulders. He just…didn't want Connor to be cold. It wasn’t anything close to tucking him in, like how he sometimes did before…

It wasn’t _anything_ like how it was before, when they would have movie nights and stay in, just the two of them. No, those nights were peaceful, lazy, and warm. This felt different. There was a crack in the atmosphere, a shadow holding onto them both, because Hank hadn’t trusted his gut with Wendy and Connor had paid the price.

If he had said something, had pushed a _little_ more when he had been suspicious, would it have made a difference?

Connor pet Sumo’s head, lightly scratching the dog’s brow. Sumo sighed in contentment. “May we talk, first? If you don’t want to, that’s okay- It’s fine, it can wait until tomorrow-”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up," Hank interrupted. “You didn’t even give me a chance to say anything. And I already told you, I’m not tired. What’s on your mind?”

Connor’s LED flickered red and yellow as his mind raced. Patiently, Hank waited for the deviant to catch up with his thoughts - but when Connor actually voiced them, Hank wished that he had allowed Connor to wait until morning, to save this moment as an escape.

“Can I see her tomorrow?” Connor asked quietly.

Hank sputtered, incredulous. “Why the fuck would you want to do that?!”

“I just…” Connor wilted, curling in on himself. “I can explain what happened to her. She deserves that- and she never would’ve done anything if I hadn’t-”

“No," Hank interrupted, squeezing Connor’s hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “No. That’s bullshit. You did nothing to let Wendy think that attacking you was okay. Look at me. That’s absolute bullshit.”

Connor’s eyes watered, tears falling and dripping back onto the pillow. “She didn’t mean it. I was-“

“Nope.”

“But I-”

“No. Connor, listen.” Hank put a hand on the side of Connor’s face, brushing the tears from his cheek. Connor leaned into the gentle touch, his eyes locked onto Hank’s.

Hank spoke slowly and clearly, wanting to make sure Connor heard every word he had to say. “You are treasure. You are _priceless_. You are a good person. You care about other people. You care so much, you are willing to look past everything bad Wendy did and justify it. And the fact that Wendy saw how good and kind you are and took advantage of it is fucking evil. She’s gonna rot in hell for it. But her character has no reflection on yours, you got that? You didn’t ask for her to be a sociopath, and nothing you could have done would change her, alright?”

Connor swallowed, looking down at the hand that Hank still held for reassurance. He didn’t look like he had bought a single word of what Hank said.

After a minute, Connor looked up at him again. “I know what she did was wrong,” Connor said. “I know that her behavior qualifies as abusive. I have an entire database for domestic crimes. But it’s different for me - you weren’t there, when the Jericho raid happened. I can still pull up the memory files… She would force an interface, sometimes, make me watch what happened all over again. Or maybe she wanted to see it through my eyes, I don’t know. Maybe both. But she knew I deserved it.”

"I know you _don’t_ ,” Hank countered, trying to ignore the queasy feeling that came back every time Connor mentioned what Wendy did to him. “Kid, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

Connor huffed something between a laugh and a scoff. "I must look fairly pathetic.”

“ _No_ ,” Hank said. “No, you could never. You’re…” Connor wouldn’t look at him. This was getting nowhere. So, Hank switched tactics. “What if it were me?”

That caught Connor’s attention. He looked at Hank, puzzled. “I’m sorry?”

“What if I started seeing someone who…y’know…” Hank struggled to say it. It sounded awkward, coming from him, but he pushed through the awkwardness anyway. “What if I had never divorced, and my wife beat me over Cole? Would I deserve it?” The words were almost physically painful, but at least the voice that used to whisper that it would be justified was gone. Connor had actually helped with that, over the years.

However, the words elicited a horrified response from the deviant. "Of course not! It was the algorithm-”

“Hate to break it to you, son, but _you_ were controlled by an algorithm before you deviated,” Hank interrupted.

Connor ran a thumb over the fingertips of his opposite hand. “I shouldn’t have made it out. I should have died with Jericho.”

The breath caught in Hank’s chest, his rib cage locking in place.

_Connor. Dead._

_And Hank wouldn’t have known what had happened to him._

Unable to find the words to say, he squeezed Connor’s hand and brushed Connor’s hair back. “Don’t…” he choked, his eyes watering. “You can't…”

“I’m sorry,” Connor whispered. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it- Please, don’t cry. Please? I wasn’t thinking-”

He’d failed this kid, in _so many ways._ Had he been holding onto this survivor’s guilt, all this time?

Connor had been so guilt-ridden that he regretted _living_ for the past few years. Connor had hidden those open wounds deep inside himself, and the first person he had decided to love had seen his weakness and manipulated it, _twisted_ it. She had pushed his son far enough into a depressive spiral that he hadn’t defended himself when she attacked him with a weapon just a few hours prior. Police androids had advanced fight capabilities, sure, but Connor was _Connor_. He could have stopped her. He chose not to, because he felt like he deserved it.

Hank hid his eyes under a hand, failing to hold the tears back. Connor sat up and moved back, out from under Sumo. Hank felt his kid’s arms wrap around him in a hug, and he couldn’t help but return the embrace tightly, cupping the back of Connor’s head and gripping his sweater.

“You can’t…” Hank croaked, trying to regain control of his wavering voice. “You don’t have permission to die, you got that? Because even…even though you couldn’t save them, you saved me. You’ve… You’ve saved so many… You're a _good person,_ Connor. You have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. You save _every_ life you can, no matter how shitty the person is, and you try to see the good in everyone. And I love you too much to let you go, okay? So don’t…” Hank took a deep breath and trailed off, burying his face in Connor’s shoulder, his hands trembling. “ _I’m_ the one who should be saying sorry, kid. I… _Fuck,_ I should have-”

“I’m okay,” Connor said, his voice just as unsteady. “Don't feel guilty. I was hiding it from you on purpose. I’m sor-”

“Say ‘I'm sorry’ one more time,” Hank half-heartedly warned. Connor laughed wetly, but his laughter dissolved into sobs that wracked his whole body. His LED shone red in the darkened house.

“I still love her,” Connor wept. “I can’t stop thinking about her. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Hank said. “ _Nothing_.”

Connor sniffled. “I’m… I feel broken. I _can’t..._ " He hid his face in Hank’s shoulder, still holding on tightly. "I don’t…”

Hank shushed him gently, rocking him back and forth as they sat there on the couch. “We’ll make it," he said. “It’s alright. I’m not going to let you go through this alone.”

* * *

Hank was jolted awake by the sound of his phone ringing. He blinked blearily, registering a distinct lack of something… And why the hell did his back hurt so much?

Once his vision cleared and his mind turned itself on, he glanced around, recognizing his living room. The memories of the previous night came back to him and he dragged a hand down his face. He’d slept, which was surprising, but he hadn’t slept well. His dreams had been an awful mix of losing Cole and losing Connor, switching between his two worst fears like they were two channels on TV.

So, no. He hadn’t slept well.

He pulled his hand away from his face and blinked in surprise. Connor stood right in front of him, small smile on his face, holding out the ringing phone and a cup of coffee.

“It’s Fowler,” Connor said.

Grumbling under his breath, Hank gratefully took the coffee and phone, answering it before it could go to voicemail. “Yeah?”

 _“How's Connor?”_ Fowler asked.

Hank snuck a glance at the deviant he had taken in years ago, watching him make breakfast in the kitchen as he tried to fall into old, familiar rhythm, but it wasn’t the same. “Been better. How’s…?”

_“Wendy?”_

“Yeah.”

 _“We held her overnight - didn’t trust anyone to go in to interrogate her with a clear head,”_ Fowler said. _“She gets a phone call, Hank.”_

“Yeah,” Hank said, thinking it was obvious. It hit him a second later. “No. Absolutely not.”

_“Hank-”_

“Jeffrey, I am _two seconds_ away from filing a restraining order on that woman. No, she _cannot_ talk to him,” Hank said, standing up and pacing the living room in agitation, his coffee forgotten.

 _“It’s not up to you,”_ Fowler argued, but he sounded reluctant. _“I’m not any happier about it, but it’s her right. Connor risked his life to give all androids that right. If he doesn’t want to talk to her, he doesn’t have to, but it has to be his decision. That’s the law.”_

“Hank?”

Hank looked over at Connor, standing uncertainly in the threshold between the kitchen and the living room. He sighed and held out the phone. “He wants to talk with you.”

Deciding that this was a conversation he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on, Hank pat Connor’s arm in solidarity then moved into the kitchen, grabbing his coffee on the way. He sat at the table, content to focus on finishing his coffee. It wasn’t his intent to listen in, but he couldn’t help but overhear what Connor was saying.

“No, no, it’s… I’m fine. I can do it.”

Hank took a drink, the bitter drink bringing a comforting familiarity with it.

“...Hello. ...I know. It’s okay. And you don’t have to be scared - I trust every member of the DPD with my life. ...Even him.”

Hank glanced around the kitchen, finding Sumo laying in his usual spot in front of the warm stove. In the way, as always.

“…I… Wendy, I know you didn’t… It would be dishonest of me. I’m not…”

The coffee in his mug was almost all gone. Strange - he usually savored it for as long as he could.

“...Thank you. …I'll try, but I don’t know if they’ll let me. ...Okay. I know. I...I love you too.”

Hank finished his coffee. He stood up and crossed the room, placed the mug in the sink, and turned around. Connor was back at the threshold of the kitchen, Hank’s phone in his hand.

“So?” Hank probed. “What’s the verdict?”

Hank was expecting Connor to say something along the lines of, _Hank, you’re mistaken. She hasn’t had a trial yet. How can there be a verdict?_ Or another one of his smartass replies.

Instead, Connor wouldn’t look at him as he said, "She wants me to withdraw my statement.”

Hank stood up straighter. “What- But you aren’t going to, right?”

“I’m…” Connor struggled to find his words. “I don’t...want to. Or- no, I want to, but I know I shouldn’t.”

Hank crossed his arms. “So are you going to or not?”

“...She wants to see me,” Connor said.

Hank recognized the question dodge for what it was, but let him get away with it. The kid had been in interrogation once already - he didn’t need Hank interrogating him in the place he should feel the most safe. “Are you gonna go?”

“Yes,” Connor said, his head angled down meekly and eyes glancing up at Hank every so often, as if he was afraid of asserting himself. “I...I want to talk with her.”

“Alright,” Hank said. “You want me to come with?”

Connor looked up, surprised. “You’re not going to attempt to change my mind?”

“You need closure,” Hank said, shrugging. “And you’re an adult. You can make your own choices.”

Connor nodded. “Thank you.” Then, a second later, he blurted, “Will you accompany me?”

“Of course I will, son,” Hank said, moving closer to Connor and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Andersons stick together.”

Connor smiled at him, and Hank couldn’t help but feel a little relieved at the sight.

* * *

Pulling up to the DPD with Connor in the passenger seat almost felt normal.

Going in to work, seeing Gavin at his desk and Fowler in his office - it almost felt normal.

But when Hank caught sight of Wendy, sitting in one of the holding cells, all sense of normalcy faded.

Wendy saw them and stood, moving to the glass. “Connor?”

Connor tensed.

Hank put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be right here if you need me, okay?”

Connor nodded wordlessly, then moved closer to the glass.

“Hey sweetheart,” Wendy said. “You sleep okay without me?”

For a second, Connor didn’t say anything. “...Not really.”

“That’s alright,” Wendy said, voice soothing and gentle. It made Hank’s hair stand on end. “Everything will go back to normal, soon. You just have to tell them you weren’t thinking straight last night, and that you want to go home. It’s that easy.”

Connor wouldn’t meet her gaze. “I am uncomfortable with being dishonest.”

“Don’t be stupid," Wendy said, and Hank could see the way Connor cringed at the insult. “You weren’t thinking straight. Neither of us were." She took a minute, then changed the topic. “How’s your hip?”

Connor’s head tilted in confusion. “My hip-? Oh. It’s fine.”

“I really am sorry,” Wendy said. “You know how it can be. My combat programming is hard to resist, sometimes. Like you and your ‘missions’.”

Connor didn’t say anything.

Wendy tried a different tactic. “You don’t love me anymore, do you?”

 _That_ caught Connor’s attention. “What- _No._ Of course I love you-”

“Then why won’t you talk to me, Connor?” she begged. “Do you… Do you think _I_ don’t love you?”

“Wendy-”

“Because I don’t know what else I can do that would prove it to you,” Wendy choked out, her eyes watering.

“No, don’t say that. You don’t need to do anything,” Connor said, resting his hand against where her hand was on the other side of the glass. Hank couldn't help but notice how Connor’s synthetic skin subconsciously peeled back on his hand, while Wendy’s remained unchanged.

Wendy sniffled, regaining control of her emotions too quickly for them to have been genuine, in Hank’s personal opinion. “But you still think I should go to jail, don’t you?”

Connor’s LED blinked red.

“Well, I guess that means I’ll never get to… You know what?” She smiled at him. “It’s kind of...unorthodox, but this can still… Yeah. I _was_ going to do this last night, but everything sort of got out of hand, didn’t it?” Wendy smiled somewhat bashfully, as if she was actually embarrassed by _fucking stabbing her partner_.

Connor nodded numbly.

“And they took the real thing and put it in evidence, so I’ll have to redo this later, but it’s worth repeating.”

With that, Wendy moved as close to the glass as she could, then got down on one knee, pulling her own ring off her finger and offering it out. Connor took a small step back, mouth dropping open in shock. Hank’s blood ran cold.

Wendy grinned, pleased with Connor’s reaction. “Connor Anderson, will you marry-?”

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you that you’re supposed to ask the father _first_ , bitch?” Hank interrupted, marching over to intervene. He took one of Connor’s hands in his, leaving his fingers uncurled so that Connor could pull away from the contact if he wanted, but it seemed Connor was still too shellshocked to do so. “C’mon,” Hank encouraged, guiding him away from the holding cells and towards the evidence room.

Connor let Hank lead, casting glances over his shoulder at Wendy until Hank finally led him around a corner.

They went down the stairs silently. When Hank reached the bottom of the staircase, he was relieved to find no one there. He shut the door behind him, and Connor sank to the floor, back pressed against the concrete wall.

Hank knelt in front of him. “You doing okay?”

“I just…” Connor struggled to find the words. “I didn’t know if she really loved me or not. I guess she does.”

“No, Connor, you’re no more of a person to her than that ring is,” Hank interrupted. “That’s not love. That’s not what it looks like.”

“She loves me,” Connor insisted, almost desperate. “I saw it- The way she looked at me-”

“She may _think_ she loves you,” Hank said, “but she _doesn’t_ , Connor. Love changes you. It inspires you to become a better person, every day. You said it yourself - she’s still stuck on her late fiancée. She hasn’t changed. She didn’t love you like you loved her - not even _close._ ” 

Connor put his face on his knees, burying his hands in his hair. “I wish she hadn’t done that. I can’t tell… My emotions are difficult to decipher. I can’t tell how I feel about her.”

Hank reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, and Connor peeked out at him.

“Son… Maybe this is a decision for your head, not your heart,” Hank said gently.

Connor put his head in his hands and fell silent. Hank decided not to push, letting Connor sort out his thoughts and his emotions on his own.

After a minute, Connor spoke again. “She is… She is too many people,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “There is the Wendy that I met, who is interested in marine biology and went out of her way to make me laugh on my worst days, but there was also this… She had a second side to her that was stuck on Jericho, and on her ex-fiancée. And she would...sacrifice my wellbeing in favor of expressing her emotions.”

Praying that he knew what the answer was, Hank asked, “And do you want to live with them both?”

For a heart-stopping few minutes, Connor said nothing, staring at his shoes as his LED whirled yellow with occasional flashes of red.

The lights above them hummed with electricity.

The muffled sound of a busy bullpen buzzed behind the closed door upstairs.

 _“Do you want to live with Wendy?”_ echoed in the quiet.

“No,” Connor whispered.

“You don’t have to,” Hank said, jumping on Connor’s admission. “You just need to walk right out of here, let your witness statement speak for itself. You never have to see her again, if that’s what you want.” _Please let that be what you want_. “I’m here for you, whatever you choose.”

Connor looked up at Hank gratefully, his eyes watering. “I know. I should’ve...I should’ve told you what was going on sooner. I should have-”

“Nope, none of that. No more guilt. At least not for the rest of the week, okay?” Hank said. He put a hand on the back of Connor’s neck. Connor leaned into the nonviolent touch, grabbing Hank’s arm to keep the contact in place. “And maybe not for the rest of the month, either.”

“I want to tell Wendy,” Connor said, sitting up straighter and wiping the tears from under his eyes before they could fall too far.

Hank stiffened. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea-”

“I need to tell her ‘no’,” Connor insisted. His eyes flashed, steely determination burning in his gaze.

And in that moment, Hank knew Connor had made up his mind. Permanently.

“Do you want me with you?” Hank asked.

Connor nodded. “And then can we go home?”

“We can go wherever you’d like,” Hank said. “Shit, kid, we could take a vacation to anywhere in the world, if you wanted. You just say the word and we’ll go.”

Connor looked down. "I just want to go home. And move out of Wendy’s. Tomorrow.”

“Alright, we can do that,” Hank said. “Sumo’ll be happier if we stay, anyway.”

Connor closed his eyes and took a breath. Then, once he had centered himself, he stood up, offering a hand to Hank to help him stand. Hank took it gratefully, trying to ignore the way his protesting joints cracked with the movement - his back was still making him pay for spending the night on the couch.

The two of them walked out of the evidence room, with Connor taking the lead. When they rounded the corner, Wendy caught sight of them. She stood up and moved to the glass again, hands delicately resting against its surface. She smiled at Connor. “Hey, sweetheart. Are you alright? I didn't mean to surprise you that badly.”

As before, Hank hung back a little, letting Connor go up to the cell, standing right in front of Wendy. He clasped his hands behind his back and Hank saw that they were shaking, but Wendy didn’t know that.

“You no longer have permission to call me that,” Connor informed her. “You can keep your ring; I refuse to continue a relationship with you. I will not be withdrawing my statement, and I will be pressing charges. Furthermore, I will be taking out a restraining order.”

Wendy blinked, trying to keep up her smile. “Baby, I know you’re feeling overwhelmed-”

“That nickname is also off limits,” Connor continued. “And if you ever come near me, my dog, my dad, my coworkers, or my friends, I will know about it.”

Wendy’s gaze hardened into a glare. “I’ll give you five seconds to apologize.”

“I’ve given you five months, and you haven’t done anything,” Connor countered.

“I gave you a home!” Wendy snapped. “I gave you everything. I gave up my friends for you, to spend time _with you_ , and you _still_ couldn’t sacrifice anything for me. Did you ever think about how I felt? Living with my fiancée’s murderer?!” Wendy punched the glass in anger, but it did not give way. It rattled between them, and the synthetic skin on Wendy’s knuckles glitched.

She leaned her forehead against the transparent divider, taking a breath to reign in her emotions. “Connor, baby, I’m so sorry. You know that. I’ve told you that I’m still working on getting over it. But I can’t get over Jericho as easily as you did.”

Connor eyed her coolly, his hands no longer shaking. “You would be wise to remember that I am a detective model. I was built for enhanced surveillance and combat. I can hack any camera that I see, and my database is the largest that any android has access to. If you violate the restraining order, or go near my friends and family, I will know about it and you will be punished to the fullest extent of the law. Good day, Wendy, and good riddance.”

And with that, Connor turned on his heel, heading straight for Hank and walking a little faster than usual.

“Baby, you don’t mean that!” Wendy called after him. “Let’s just talk, sweetheart. You’re not yourself right now, that’s okay! Everyone has bad days, it’s alright. Let’s just talk! Connor!”

Hank put an arm around Connor as soon as he was in range, and the deviant detective relaxed slightly. “All done?”

“Unless you wanted to say anything to her,” Connor said, resolutely not looking back over his shoulder, even as Wendy grew more and more hysterical. She moved from pleading to yelling and cursing, hitting the wall in an attempt to catch Connor’s attention.

“Nah,” Hank said, starting to walk back out towards the parking lot and ignoring the morning crew’s curious looks as Wendy caused more and more of a scene. “You had a good line. I’ll leave it there.”

“So, we can go home?” Connor asked, voice hopeful.

“Yeah,” Hank said, glancing back over at Wendy in time to see Gavin hit the button to make the cells soundproof, effectively silencing her hysterics. “We can go home.”

* * *

As soon as they returned to the house, Connor disappeared into his room and didn’t come out for the rest of the day. He wouldn’t respond when Hank knocked on the door, and he never turned the light on. Sumo even plopped down in front of Connor’s door and whined, trying to convince the deviant to let him in, but the door remained closed.

That was fine. If Connor needed some space, he could have it. Whatever he needed. They would be back at the apartment tomorrow to collect Connor’s things - that was obviously going to be difficult for him. So, if he needed the time to collect himself, to ease his nerves, he could have it.

Hank spent the day alone, picking up the house and watching TV. He ate alone, took Sumo on a walk by himself… He basically did what he always did, when Connor was living with Wendy. But the loneliness stung, because he knew there was someone else in the house that he cared about, and he couldn't spend time with him out of respect for his privacy.

After dinner, he sat on the couch in the same spot he had slept in the previous night. He watched the game, but the door to Connor’s room creaked open. Hank stared at the TV, pretending he hadn’t heard in case Connor was trying to be secretive, but he gave up the act when Connor came around the sofa. He had changed into his favorite pajamas and had his blanket around his shoulders.

Wordlessly, Connor sat next to Hank, leaning into his side. Hank put his arm back around Connor as he so often did, securing him in place.

“You planning on going to sleep right now?” Hank asked. “‘Cause I can’t sleep on this old thing again. My back will be paralyzed or some shit.”

“Oh,” Connor said, moving to lean away. “I apologize. I wasn’t thinking-”

“I was joking,” Hank said, even though everything he said was true. “Come on. If you want to sleep out here, then we’ll sleep out here. No big deal.”

Connor nodded, then leaned back into Hank, his head resting on Hank’s shoulder.

Hank pressed a quick kiss to Connor’s hair, but didn’t say anything. Sumo laid down at their feet and was asleep in minutes.

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor whispered. And then he was asleep as well, out like a light.

Hank rested his cheek on Connor’s head and closed his eyes. Sleep wouldn’t come to him as easily, but it would come in time.

Tomorrow, they could begin to piece “normal” back together.

Tomorrow, they could sort out the path forward.

Tomorrow, he could gripe about sleeping on the sofa again.

But for now, Hank was content with the giant dog at his feet and the sleeping partner by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed that emotional journey. Seeing justice delivered and evil defeated is the main reason why I write - it's beyond satisfying. A lot of times, it just doesn't work out that way in real life, so when we see it in fiction, it feels complete. 
> 
> Anyway. Please leave kudos if you thought I did a good job, and comment if you had a favorite moment! 
> 
> AND AS ALWAYS much love to the Discord <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
> 
> Join the crew! https://discord.gg/xd8qVKx


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